Of Ballet and Boarding Schools
by FrostedFire
Summary: Ashton's School of Fine Arts, an established boarding school, has reopened for a new term. Cosette Valjean and her friend Eponine Jondrette go head to head to get the role of Paquita, Joly and Bossuet tussle for the new girl's affections, and Grantaire, struggling to keep his scholarship, has to aid his difficult sister. Also features Courfeyrac, stuck between two dancers.
1. In Which Marius 'Mean Girls'

_Hey, everyone! I know I haven't posted in a while. Still working on fixing Some Nights- don't worry, I'm almost done. Whirlwind may be deleted, I haven't decided. Please review, as that would be great._

_Feuilly's last name is used as Scapini in this, that being his foster parent's surname. _

* * *

**T**he day's announcements crackled lifelessly over the school, information slipping in and out of hearing with a small squeal when the microphone was presumed to be too close to the speaker. "- and remember to _-squeak- _turn in your -_squeak- _so that your teachers," Oshack Hennessy spoke, his Assistant Principal voice slowly fading into the background. It wasn't like anyone was paying attention, save for the younger students. Everyone else would wait for Courfeyrac to make an announcement, which always happened a good half-hour after. At least Courfeyrac remembered to keep the microphone away. There was no squeaking when _he _was speaking.

Although most students were thinking this, not many were willing to voice such an opinion. Common fact was that some of the students were loyal enough to the teachers that they would tell them absolutely anything, with the hopes of gaining a new part in whatever Fine Art they were involved in.

After all, Ashton's School of Fine Arts was extremely difficult to get into. It required auditions, grade point averages, more auditions, and even a perfect interview. Even then, 9 out of 10 students were put on a waiting list. Only the best of the best got into the school, and those rated second string were glad to rat out those taking advantage of their spots.

This friendly competition kept everyone silent about their opinions, at least on the first few days. It made the teacher's jobs easier, at least. No fights needed to be broken up, and no dance students showing off in the hallways... It was pleasant, until of course, everyone was comfortable, and kinder old students mentioned who were the 'spies' to the younger ones. Then everything went downhill.

For now, though, it was eerily silent as everyone dazedly ignored the statements, drizzling into the school building with tired limps scraping at the door handles.

Hennessy finished his announcements with a, "Have a pleasant day-yyy!" leaving the rest of the school relieved, albeit disturbed by the amount of squeaking and his sing-song ending. With a click, he was gone from the airways, and as soon as he vanished, there was an abrupt chatter that danced through the building.

"What's your schedule like, Courfeyrac?" a dark-skinned female asked, twisting her locks around into a bun. Curiosity tweaked in her honey orbs, and she tilted her head over the paper, casting a shadow as it was daintily pulled away. "Hey! I just wanted to see if we had the same lunchtime!"

A bright smile was shown her way, and the teen, who had been sitting on a bench prior to the question, slid out from beneath the girl, darting into the school. "Gotta catch me, first!"

Their youthful laughter trailed into the hallways, where they brushed past a small, Asian student pestering a larger, much buffer friend. "Please, Bahorel? We won't get in trouble, I swear. I just want to see if a trumpet and a violin can do a duet!"

"I don't think that'll work, Joly," mumbled the larger one. "Joly! Stop poking me! It won't- aurgh!"

As Courfeyrac turned his head to call out to his two friends, he noticed that the composer had proceeded to tickle Bahorel, and returned to his route, laughing hysterically. Who would've known that the combination wrestler/trumpet player would be ticklish? Ducking between two vending machines, he decided to use the knowledge later, when Cosette wasn't chasing him through the school.

She found him a few seconds later, winded with hair unfinished, possessing a look that could kill. Muttering about the ridiculousness of the situation, she pressed herself closer, jabbing the boy on the nose. "You. Brat!"

Waving his hand in a version of a bow, the youth looked down at her, smirking. "And? You caught me. How 'bout a kiss for the paper?"

Sighing, the girl pressed around for the paper, effectively giving a pat-down. Courfeyrac waggled his brows, which she returned with a glare. "Just tell me what your lunch is!" she protested.

"No," he replied wickedly. "Not until I get my kiss."

Cosette seemed to debate it for a moment, until from outside, in the light, they heard, "Euphrasie Cosette Valjean! If you are in there with either one of those two boys, I will make sure to tell your father immediately!"

She blushed prettily, whipping out into the hallway. As her eyes fluttered innocently, she glanced at her papa's grinning face, attempting to state that she had done nothing. Until, of course, she realized how pointless it was.

"So?" Valjean asked. "Which is it? Courfeyrac? Or Marius? Personally, I find Marius to be a bit better. The Courfeyrac fellow gets himself in a lot more trouble, although he's a great deal better at announcements. Also, it could have been your father. You owe me something."

Courfeyrac poked his head out, winked at the band teacher, and disappeared back into the shadows.

"Ah. Well, that answers my questions, Cosette. Now, what to owe me... Perhaps you do not tell your father that-"

"Not tell me what?" wondered a gravelly voice, seeming to resonate around the group of kids that surrounded the pair (trio, if one was counting Courfeyrac). Dark hands pushed around the mass of children, who were each looking forward to seeing someone get in trouble. A teacher only made it better than it having been the class president. "Hmm? Oh, hello, Cosette. Why aren't you stretching for class?"

Pink touched her cheeks, and she easily brushed past her father, who shouted after her, "We'll discuss this later!", only to have her other parent repeat, "Talk about what?"

Courfeyrac took this moment to flee as quick as possible, attempting to catch up with Cosette.

They walked in sync, brushing hands every so often. Through the halls they went, bouncing towards the stairs that would take them to the cafeteria. Down the carpet they went, tripping lightly down the oak. Blue accented the dark colors, and the ballerina sighed dreamily, finally realizing how much she had truly missed it. Almost as an afterthought, though he had been thinking of it for quite some time, the teen managed, "How was Kirov, by the way?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed rapidly. "It was amazing, thank you for asking! The only issue was the food- it wasn't as great as ours is. And Musical Theory, but don't tell my papa that. Father came to watch the showcase, and our variations were fun. You would have enjoyed pantomime and drama! We had drama once a week, but pantomime only once. And our teacher for that! Oh, he was hilarious. He didn't understand what pantomime was, and insisted we called it 'ballet acting'." There, she had demonstrated a dramatic Russian accent, practically tugging Courfeyrac down the stairs, at this point.

It took a few more moments due to hallway congestion, but the arrived at the cafeteria and offices at the exact time that they had to, luckily enough. The pair parted at the doors, with one going towards the announcements area, and the other sauntering towards the rest of their friend group. Enviously, he noticed Marius wrap her in a dramatic embrace, even though they had spent the whole summer with each other.

As Pontmercy finally released his girlfriend, she practically jumped into her brother's arms, having not seen him in six-and-a-half weeks. His blond curls were set off against her dark features, and one would have to double-take to assume they were related. In fact, they had been mistaken for boyfriend-girlfriend more often, which immediately would set Enjolras into a rage.

They chattered briefly over what happened, while the rest of their friends began to murmur excitedly over their courses until Bossuet arrived with a girl by his side. She stood a few inches taller than him (which was a feat- Bossuet was six feet), and looked exotically pretty, with sharpened grey eyes almost owl-like in quality. Her limbs looked built for ballet, but she didn't seem to stand like Cosette, instead in a more natural parallel.

"Everyone," he boomed out, before quickly adjusting his volume with a little chuckle. "Let me present you Musichetta Dupree, modern dancer extraordinaire! She will be joining our humble clique this year, so that she doesn't get wrapped up with the wrong... Well, the difficult crowd. Not bad, of course, because they're all relatively present. We're just more fun!"

She laughed at the introduction, before curtsying over-dramatically for the group, who each applauded with repressed giggles.

Bossuet then proceeded to introduce everyone else, gesturing to each in turn. "Alright! First, we have Marius Pontmercy, Dork Prince of the Ballet Dancers. He's the one with fluffy hair and freckles all over his face. Yup. Then there's Combeferre, the extremely tall one with glasses. He's into Structural Design, and all that science and engineering things, I think. I'm not to familiar with it- he talks more about other nerdy things like math and science than the design part. Next, we have Feuilly, the red-headed one without the braid. He's an artist, he likes doing miniatures and designs. Last year he was into tattoos, but might stray to sculpting, if I recall. Yes? Yes! And we have the other red-head next, Jehan, Feuilly's best friend after Bahorel. We haven't gotten to Bahorel, but well... Anyway, Jehan is a poet, smokes a bit, really close to the scruffy black haired artist... Um... Bahorel is the big lump next to him. He's trumpet and a wrestler. The brilliant piece is Grantaire- poet, pun-artist, real artist, fencer, dancer... He does everything. He's amazing. I'm serious. You'll love him. Then Joly, my best friend. He's a composer, a bit crazy, and also plans on learning some doctor things. Also single. Like me. Enjolras is the scary blonde one, he's just Enjolras (you'll understand soon enough). Cosette is his sister, they look nothing alike. She can explain everything to you if she wants. She's also a dancer, but she's with Marius on the ballet side. We're missing Courfeyrac- he does announcements, and is in Drama. Oh! Enjolras is a writer, and oddly enough, sings too."

Cosette coughed briefly, jerking her head in the direction of the other group of seniors. Bossuet let out a rather lofty sigh, but obliged. "Over there, we have our other friends. Montparnasse is a hot piece of ass, but is with the Jondrette kid, 'Ponine. She comes around a lot. She's a ballet dancer, really close with Cosette. Azelma is an opera singer, that's another Jondrette for you. Gavroche is the tiny little boy- he's Musical Theatre, I suppose. He shows up. Um. The little female is Grantaire's sister, Adamarissa, and we don't mess with her. A few more, but you'll find them out."

As Combeferre snickered at the statement, Grantaire glared, daring them to say something.

"She's a real spitfire. One time she hit me in the face!"

"And it was awesome," Grantaire muttered. "Now shut it, Pontmercy. Thanks."

They all laughed at that, even Marius, who received a high-five from all for involving a Mean Girls quote despite not having seen the movie, as well as speaking the truth. Adamarissa _was _a spitfire, and was always in trouble. It wasn't something they liked to share; it wasn't their point to announce, and it seemed Grantaire already knew. But he was fighting to get her to stay on his full scholarship, and was too busy to deal with everything at once. At least the Jondrette girls could pay some attention to what was going on.

But Montparnasse and that other boy... They weren't that great. Even private school had their thugs.

"Anyway," Bossuet continued, "Jondrette Senior is best friends with Grantaire here, who can hang out with any group here and have friends. For some reason, he chose to hang out with us. We hang out here no matter what, really. During breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We're year-long boarders, are you? Oh, good! I'm assuming you'll be with Azelma- her roommate bailed. Eponine is with Cosette. Joly and I are fourth floor, if you ever want to party. The other losers are third. Courfeyrac and Marius, Combeferre and Feuilly, Jehan and Bahorel, and then you have Enjolras with Montparnasse. All right, what schedules do we have?"

Cosette piped up first, "Ballet with my dad, three hours, Math, second lunch. Then other stuff, but you wanted lunch, right? Marius is the same."

"Second lunch," Enjolras added, "For me and Jehan."

Just as the rest of the group began to make announcements regarding classes, a bright voice chattered overhead. Courfeyrac, with the important announcements.

"Goooood Morning Ashton's Aliens! This is Courfeyrac Sanchez with today's weather! It looks like we're getting a big storm ahead- of men! That's right, guys! Musical Theatre is putting on Priscilla, Queen of the Desert! Check for dates coming soon! Spring's musical isn't exactly decided yet, but vote for it when you can! Our special ballet program is beginning their Nutcracker this week, so if you are interested in auditioning and are _not _a dance major, please come try out next Tuesday in Studio Four. That's Studio Four, next Tuesday, at 5:30. Make sure to grab dinner before hand, guys. Also, Wednesday breaks are being replaced with Nutrition. Everyone, Nutrition is required."

There was a pause, and a bit of snickering heard over the line. "Also," Courfeyrac continued. "Whoever put sticky notes all over Monsieur Javert's car is, and I quote, 'Going to suffer immediately'. Friends, if this was you, I certainly recommend both running and hiding. Not in between the vendors in C and D, of course, because I have tried that before. Also, would Mr. Prouvaire and Mr. Scapini please come to the office? And please bring the Biology textbooks in your bags. Thank you, and have a great day! More announcements will come when possible! And please, everyone. Remember to bow to all artistic staff. Thanks."


	2. In Which the Gingers are Framed

_Two sections this time. Have a lovely day/night/morning/evening. :)_

* * *

**"B**ow to Artistic Staff?" Musichetta asked curiously, the rapid question ruffling her large hoops. "Why's that? Isn't that just some ballet thing?"

Cosette nodded with a light laugh, gazing around the room at everyone's surprised faces. "It's a ballet thing, yeah," she confirmed. "The head of the ballet department decided that we weren't disciplined enough for success. So, everyone has to do it. He was trained by Russians, you see. Vaganova School, class of... Old. He doesn't talk about it, and I haven't found many videos. Usually he threatens to send us to Siberia."

"Oh, gosh. I pity you bunheads. And myself included, as I seem to have ballet this morning."

The 'bunhead' agreed, bobbing her head up and down. With the note of classes, though, her smile widened. She grabbed quickly onto the girl's arm, squealing lightly. "Oh, yay! We'll have first class together! You, me, Marius, and Grantaire! Isn't that exciting! And you'll have something with Courfeyrac for Musical Theatre. We should get going to go stretch before class, though."

With an agreement, the girls bid a brief farewell to everyone else, and exited the cafeteria. Marius and Grantaire, still seated, seemed to be in the midst of a discussion over hair gel, and were therefore too occupied to remember to leave for class. It wasn't as if it mattered, though, because changing for them was much easier than it was for the girls, who had hair to manage.

At least there was nobody to distract Cosette as she made up her own little tour for the newest addition to their group of friends.

They were walking at a leisurely pace, up the 'Girls Only' steps, and towards the "Balletway", as dubbed by Courfeyrac. The hallway was filled with different pictures of professional dancers, almost making the yellow walls seem welcoming. Offices were present on both sides for a few feet, being for each of the teachers, as well as dressing room for students. The girls walked in together, still giggling, when Cosette briefly explained how the school worked.

"Modern and ballet dancers do ballet in together for an hour and a half, maybe less on days with a short barre. You guys then switch studios for Modern, while we continue with ballet. Hell, we could be doing barre for an hour and a half, and then I get the rest of class. Choreography days depend on the teacher. Then, after lunch and normal classes, we do Modern with you for an hour, and then more ballet. You'll likely have Modern, Jazz, or another exciting class. We get those on the weekend. Stretch is usually a morning class, and is optional. Dress code depends on levels. My class wears black leotards, pink tights. Colors on Wednesday only. Also, spots in the dressing room change per day, so good luck. That's why I get here early. Barre spots usually stay the same after a few days."

She didn't seem to pause for air, and her face was completely red when she finished. Fishing some tights and a leotard from her bag, Cosette began to pull of her clothes unabashedly, still talking as she did so. Musichetta stood blankly for a moment, before doing the same, a bit confused. At her old studio, you changed at home. But hey, when in Rome. And she didn't think Cosette would steer her wrong; she didn't seem the type.

"Oh, and there are a few Pilates classes offered during the week, would you like to do one too? I usually fit it in after school parts, or in the morning. The classes run most of the day," the girl continued, dragging her leotard up her body, then finding a few 'warmies' from her bag. There was a romper of sorts, made of a soft material, which she pulled on, and some boots that looked to be insulated. Musichetta herself usually kept on trash bag pants until class, and a jacket.

Once finished, hair included, the two wandered out of the room, dragging their bags on their shoulders. "We have to wear shoes at all times if outside the studio," she muttered beneath her breath, curtsying to a passing teacher. Her new friend echoed it, thinking that it would be strange to get used to. "It's a pain in the arse, but dad won't change the rules."

"Dad?" the modern dancer asked, speaking the first word in the past few minutes. Boy, did it seem Cosette could chatter. She didn't expect that!

She pushed open a door, letting Cosette go inside first, taking note of the studio number- 3. She had taken her audition class there. It was a spacious rectangle, almost two times bigger than the ones she was used to. Musichetta was excited with the knowledge that she could use her long legs to her advantage. It wasn't all the time that it happened. In fact, she was so used to dancing smaller that she sometimes forgot how long her legs really were.

"Oh... Erm... My dad happens to be the director of ballet?" It came out as a mumble, as the girl wasn't exactly keen on her friend thinking that there would be any special treatment. Therefore, she kept her papa out of the conversation, too.

Her friend looked her in the face at this, tanned skin already shining from the humidity in the room. "Good Lord. Does he kick your butt?" she asked sympathetically.

Before Cosette could answer, Javert stormed in, startling the dancers stretching on the ground. "Ladies and Gentlemen! You have an hour before class begins, I thank you for getting here early. Men, please get the barres out. Ladies, if you would help them? Thank you. I expect you all to be warm when I come back, or we'll repeat each combination three times until you are!"

* * *

Jehan and Feuilly reluctantly escaped the cafeteria themselves after the girls had, mumbling a soft good-bye to everyone as they went. They practically had their tails between their legs, openly holding the label-maker and the textbooks that had been marked by it. What a shame they had been caught, as the prank was brilliant! The two of them had spent all summer trying to figure out how to get it to work. You had to have a pretty extreme label maker for it. They had one that did both clear labels and white ones, as well as paints to age the paper to the right color. How had it not worked?

There was only one logical explanation: someone had spilled.

It wasn't Enjolras. Although he knew, he refused to be part of it, even part that would turn them in. In fact, he solemnly swore that he would deny any knowledge of the idea, and if asked, 'did not know of a Feuilly or a Jehan anyhow,' and would ask them 'if they were feeling alright.' He was trusted, and would certainly have helped if it wasn't a Biology book, and if it didn't include manipulating passages to include inappropriate words. If it was a Social Studies book, he would have positively enjoyed defacing it to include the real facts.

They doubted it was Combeferre, as they hadn't even mentioned it to him. He would have openly objected, and they were quite positive that he would have reported them simply for having thought to injure said book. Or else he would have laughed and said to do a different prank, as they surely could mess up a different study than the magic of science.

Courfeyrac didn't know, that much _they _knew. In fact, he came up with it, but said it would never work. They just made it work.

Bahorel had helped them.

Bossuet and Joly refused to help on the grounds that they would mess it up wrong.

Cosette...

Cosette knew.

They both connected the dots at the same time, refraining the urge to groan. That was who had done it! Of course, they doubted she had done it on purpose, but it was still something that they would take to heart.

"Maybe we shouldn't tell her these ideas anymore," Feuilly whispered to Jehan as they shoved their legs into the stairs, reluctantly taking the two flights upward. His face had taken on the semblance of an injured puppy, and light blue orbs glistened. "I mean... She might not be able to help it. She might have been really proud of us and mentioned it."

The other ginger nodded, looking over the heavy stack of textbooks that he was balancing between his arms. "It might not have been her, though. I mean... They could have noticed the missing books."

Feuilly looked a bit hopeful at that. If that was the case, they'd be back in class in no time! He could go to Sculpting 101 when it started, as opposed to when it finished. "Do you think they believe we did the other prank, too?"

Jehan at least had the grace to blush, knocking reluctantly on Mr. Hennessy's door. Usually he was in charge of discipline, or they would at least have to go there before being sent back _downstairs _to the Principal's office. His knock was answered a moment later by a kind secretary, who ushered them inside before exiting. She smiled sweetly before shutting the door, which both boys were still staring at with hope.

They only turned around when it shut, looking grimly at the two seats set up in front of the elderly man. Shoving their bodies into the seats, the two presented the textbooks and label-maker, each pouting slightly.

_There goes all of our hard work, _thought Feuilly with a small sigh. _And probably my scholarship, too._

"Alright, boys," Hennessy pompously began, observing them with narrowed eyes. "Tell me, is this going to be another hard year? Or are we going to make it easier?"

Jehan glared, whipping his braided hair behind his shoulder. "It was only hard because I _hated _Feuilly," he complained. "And you didn't make it any easier, making us stay in detention every day. Now we're friends, and you're going to give us detention for being friends?"

"Jehan. You're going to get detention for ruining school property and for this prank. As well as for putting sticky notes all over Monsieur Javert's care. I don't care if you deny that one, we know it was you! You're the only pranksters in this damn school that has a grudge against him, or rather, his daughter. So, you're stuck in detention no matter what. Now, what I want to know is if you two plan on doing this all year."

Feuilly looked like he was about to cry for a brief moment, before his eyes became steel. "Do you have any proof that we did the car?" he asked abruptly. "Because we can't be incriminated without proof. We can for the labels. In fact, we should for the labels. However, they won't be removed because these don't even have them in there- you can check. I'm simply concerned about the car. Do you have video proof?"

"No. We have a witness."

The pair arched a brow in unison. "Who?"

"Ms. Jondrette stated that she saw you do it. Also, your grudge against-"

"WE HAVE NO GRUDGE AGAINST COSETTE VALJEAN. WHY DO YOU KEEP INSISTING-"

"Prouvaire, do you need to be removed?"

"WHY ARE YOU SAYING THAT WE HAVE A GRUDGE AGAINST COSETTE?"

Feuilly swallowed, attempting to interrupt the shouting poet. "Sir, I'd like to hear what the witness is saying, and when you claimed this happened."

"WE LIKE COSETTE FOR FUCKS SAKE."

"MISTER PROUVAIRE. If you cannot control yourself, you will be removed!"

"Sir? Did you...?"

"We didn't write it down, Feuilly. I'm sorry, I can't provide the evidence."

"You can't say it was us, then," Feuilly announced, now holding a hand in front of Jehan's face.

Hennessy looked irate. "Fine. Go, then. You have detention for a month after school. Get to class. And don't you _dare _let me see you in the office again."

"Yes, sir," the pair chorused, before quickly escaping.


	3. The Kissing Corner

_Reviews would be nice, but I appreciate the ten or so people who read my first chapter and maybe my second! If, ya know, you don't hate it. Or if you hate it._

_The statement that Courfeyrac writes belong to me. I took Advanced Placement Literature last semester; please do not use this sentence without credit. Thanks._

* * *

As the bell sounding the first half of the day began, a skinny figure melted into the upstairs hallway, slipping languidly towards the commons area upstairs. The person's breath rose and fell with the steps they made, and it was quite obvious that the student had dove from a classroom at the last moment, probably after already being marked present. It was a daring feat, usually attempted four months or so after classes. But this year was different.

This year, Adamarissa May was determined to get herself kicked out of Ashton's School of Fine Arts.

It was a simple goal that she had written in the corner of her agenda (no, really, she had). It was her new mantra, repeated before and after every class. She was going to get expelled. And she was certainly going to do it before her brother graduated.

That way, it wasn't his fault. He couldn't feel guilty that she was no longer allowed to stay on his large and plentiful scholarship. He would have to see her marched off, paraded back to France, whilst he stayed among the ones that treasured and adored him. It was something that he deserved, Grantaire. Love and devotion. She was certain he wouldn't have received it under different circumstances.

If they were home, he would have already enlisted in the first job that would get them money. If they were home, and his friends were there too, he would be a drunken young man, who would have inspired none. Enjolras wouldn't have looked at him as more than a slob (though he only spared a glance or two now, being a bit jealous), Jehan would have simply sold him drugs and taken them with him, and the Jondrette girl would have been with him, dragging him further down with their misery.

Hell would have happened on Earth.

And that was why she had to keep him happy, and then get herself kicked out. She would wait until he was completely preoccupied with school, and suddenly and abruptly put an end to her school career. She had begun it today, by putting sticky notes all over Javert's car, although Azelma had told her sister that it was someone else. Although Ada had been protected then, she wasn't going to continue to let it happen. In fact, she planned on doing bigger things as the year progressed.

Her plot was this:

1. Simple, harmless pranks, to establish herself as someone to watch out for. When reprimanded by Grantaire, grin, and refuse to stop. Tell him that it is all in good fun. Maybe get him wrapped in a silly prank war, but nothing to make him lose his status.

2. A little mean-spirited bullying. Push around the younger students, maybe dunk some heads in toilets. As the months progress, make it more aggressive. Target someone. Preferably a paid drama student.

3. Target teachers. Make their lives hell. Best to start this early on and continue it.

4. Pull larger pranks.

5. Destroy everything.

6. Get expelled.

All in all, she thought it was a brilliant idea. She decided that she was beginning it now, by skipping _one _teacher's class, and preparing to go to the next one. In fact, she didn't plan on going to AP Language at all. She'd just skip all the classes, take a course online, and turn up with her 5 to get credit. It would be perfect.

Adamarissa _did _have to repeat that to herself a few hundred times as she tugged a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket, removing the next little soldier in the box. She fiddled briefly for her matchbox, which wasn't necessarily illegal on campus because of the ballerinas and artists. The dancers used it to burn the fraying edges off of cut ribbons. _And I feel sort of like that, _she absently remarked. _So it can't be all bad._

With a small little sigh, the body pushed towards the 'kissing spot' of campus, a little cave, of sorts, surrounded by romantic tutus. It was behind the staircase, behind the crisp tool of white. Most people didn't know about the spot, but it was familiar to Ada. She was pretty fond of it; her first kiss was behind there, with one of the summer kids. It wasn't that great, but for a moment, she had felt extremely happy.

The absence of a smoke alarm kept her briefly free, and the puffing Febreeze capsule in the corner was letting off a pretty nice scent. With the smoldering item in her hand, she felt around for her paper towel roll, which was filled with a few dryer sheets. They were used to keep the scent away, and while it was rather uncomfortable...

She blew the cigarette smoke into a cloth, like Montparnasse told her to. All she had to do now was to remember getting _rid _of the fabric... Maybe she could plant it in a teachers bag, and see what happens.

As she pondered it, Ada failed to notice a tutu pushed back, and a tall individual shoving his way inside.

"Oh!" the figure gasped out, shock written on their face. "I'm so sorry!"

It was Enjolras Valjean, the one person who she was certain would tell her brother, a teacher, and then the principal. She crushed the end of the tube, sniffing slightly. "Sorry. I'll go."

His blue eyes narrowed slightly, observing the girl with a narrowed gaze. "Were you?" he asked, gesturing towards the items she was hurriedly shoving inside a plastic bag. It barely smelled, so he couldn't quite tell. "I mean... Ada? Were you smoking back here? Why? Where did you even get those, you're fifteen?!"

Ah, there it was. The raw anger that her brother was in awe of. The girl began to tune out the beginnings of a lecture, not quite willing to hear absolutely everything regarding her failures and mistakes. And he did tend to preach, which was always annoying.

"- and are you even quite sure that you've received undamaged goods? Montparnasse could have drugged you! Or that Jondrette kid you're always about. She's equally as shady. Also, why are you even out of class? You know what? I'm telling your brother. Right after you explain yourself."

Blanching, her fingers froze from where they were traipsing about the plastic bag, eyes widening. "You wouldn't."

"I would," Enjolras promised. "Now explain yourself."

Her lips were pulled back in a grimace, and she folded her hands almost reluctantly in her lap. Ada visibly shrunk before his eyes, and he almost felt guilty. But why? She was breaking rules; she should be in trouble. "Came up for a smoke. Yeah, 'Parnasse gave it to me. Don't insult Azelma, she's my best friend. Don't tell my brother, either. He doesn't need to know. None of this, you understand? He's got a lot on his plate. More than me, anyway."

"That isn't enough."

She curled further into a ball, resting her cheeks on her knees. "Yes, it is. He's trying to get his scholarship to cover me. You know it won't work. I know my fate. I just don't want him to feel guilty."

Warm arms wrapped around her, then, and she noticed that the teenager had descended to comfort her. "I know," he said softly. "And it'll be okay."

* * *

Grantaire didn't expect the text that he had gotten a few minutes ago, simply stating, "**surprise in tutus. pls hurry**". In fact, he didn't expect any text, especially since he was warming up during ballet class. And even worse, he didn't think that Javert would send him out in the first fifteen minutes to go take a walk around the school.

Eponine glanced at him sympathetically from her spot on the barre, where she was still doing tondues with the rest of her class, scraping her feet across the ground to a nearly perfect pointed and definitely stretched leg.

As he shoved open the door, he heard Javert shout, "And don't come back until you've done the school with each individual staircase!"

_Note to self: keep obnoxious comments to a minimal to refrain from having to do laps in ballet class._

Resigned to his fate, he had taken a quick few moments to grab better shoes from the men's dressing room, only to spot his phone blinking with a few messages. Two were from the group chat, one was from Cael, a freshman girl, and the most important was from Enjolras.

Meet him somewhere? Was he insane? They had class. Classes they couldn't skip. Classes that Grantaire somehow managed to get kicked out of, unless it was a scare tactic for the first day.

Which, knowing Monsieur Javert, it probably was.

But why him? Why not that new girl, Musichetta? Or his daughter? Why not Marius?

Grumbling, he decided to sneak towards the 'kissing spot', finding that whatever Enjolras needed him for was pretty damn important if he was skipping out on classes. What if he was dying?

"That's a lot of bloody questions, inner Grantaire,"he muttered with a little frown, slowly taking the stairs up, before remembering he was supposed to be jogging. It wouldn't be the best thing if a teacher passed him just walking in the hallway; besides, he enjoyed jogging, even though he had to go up and down stairs.

It would take him at least ten minutes to get there by walking, or about five jogging. So, at a relatively even pace, he began, staying on the right of the hallway as he went. The first set of stairs he came to was easy to go down, but when he had to exit the hall, he almost smacked into Feuilly and Jehan, who both looked perturbed. Smacking one ginger's butt as he went, he called out a, "See you later!" as he continued.

The next stairs were harder, because he had to go up _two _flights of steps to get all the way to the commons area. It wouldn't have been so hard if he hadn't just ran down an entire hallway. If only the school was smaller!

He was stopped halfway there by a frustrated Bossuet, who seemed to be traveling in the opposite direction. "What's up?" Grantaire asked, lacing an arm around the man's neck. "Weather up there pleasant?"

"Got lost," he complained, and Grantaire noticed that he was dragging behind him a large case. "Went to pick up my damn cello, only to find my case empty- I think a freshman switched 'em- and then tried to go back downstairs, but of _course _I can't get there, because Opera is practicing in the hallway and it was so loud. So I went up a flight again, but I might have gone up two... I just can't recall what floor this is. And I've been here four years."

"That stinks."

He nodded, before grinning. "But this has to be the 'Balletway', because you're here."

"Nope," the dancer responded, snapping his lips. "Art. I have to run laps. I'm off to the kissing area, though."

"Meeting anyone special?" Bossuet seemed genuinely amused, knowing how fond Grantaire was of that corner. They could have named it 'Grantaire Corner' for all the times that someone had walked in on him making out with girls/boys/others.

_Should I tell him? _He smiled wickedly, deciding to do it and figure out the reaction. "Enjolras."

Bossuet almost spilled backwards, holding in a few laughs. "Enjolras? Are you sure? Our Enjolras?" Blinking, he added, "Are you going to KISS him?"

"No, no, no," he explained with a little frown. "Not yet anyway. And not there."

They were interrupted by a passing teacher, and Grantaire resumed jogging, a bit glad that the professor had only heard the last statements, not Bossuet's question nor his initiation of such. It made him free to arrive there in what he assumed was plenty of time, if Enjolras was still waiting there for him to escape from class.

He climbed down the last flight of stairs, hearing some sort of chatter coming from beneath. Rapidly, he hopped the last one, and pushed aside a few of the large tutus, his jaw slackening at the sight.

His sister was pinned beneath Enjolras, who was tickling her without a second thought. His sister. His Enjolras. _He wasn't even yours to begin with, _his thoughts told him fiercely. _He doesn't even _like _you!_

"Erm. Sorry. I'll just go," he mumbled out, and before anything could be said, jogged all the way upstairs, hoping that the punishment he had just endured was ten times worse than what Javert was going to give him next.

* * *

Courfeyrac never would have counted himself lucky to have Bahorel in his first class- Advanced Placement Literature. One, because Bahorel hated everything to do with Language Arts, and the other reason was that, well, Bahorel wasn't strongest in Language Arts. You give him a Math problem? He'll have solved it in a second. Social Studies question? He'll know it.

He was just _terrible _at Language Arts. Especially Literature.

In fact, Courfeyrac couldn't even count the amount of times that he had witnessed a mental breakdown over Literature that required cheering up through extreme ways. Like puppy ways.

But Bahorel was eerily good at making teachers like him, and although Courfeyrac was charming beyond belief, he didn't exactly have the talent to get teachers on his side. Usually they were already looking out for when to nail him for talking during class, or even cheating. One time, he had been moved to the front before anything had started. But with his friend, teachers immediately assumed they were model students, which Courfeyrac appreciated.

Especially since AP Literature required a lot of participation.

They were already halfway through class when she had them dividing into pairs, separating them by numbers one through ten. He was six, and the trumpet player managed to get ten, despite being right next to one another. So, Bahorel went cheerily off to a pretty young girl named Zofia, and he was put with a girl named Holly.

Now, Courfeyrac liked people. He got along well with everyone, and found the light in people. He wasn't picky about friends, or even acquaintances. But Holly was a different matter.

Picture the squeaky chair of the class.

That was Holly.

She announced everything that happened to a teacher, just to keep her standings as Musical Theatre queen. He was absolutely excited that he wasn't doing that this year; he had learned his lesson already. No matter what, Holly got the lead. It wasn't that she wasn't a great lead, Courfeyrac could truly state that she was excellent. It was that she was balancing a ballet major, a musical theatre major, and studied science regularly. She was about as popular as he or Grantaire, despite everyone hating her.

And she was so damn sweet.

"Hey, Holly. Have a good summer?" he asked pleasantly, sliding into the desk across from her, turning the chair around so that they were facing one another.

She shrugged, her fiery locks floating up and down. "I suppose it wasn't too bad. I did a lot more teaching than I did dancing, which was a shame. And you?"

"At your mom's studio?" She nodded. "Uh, that sounds fun. I took a lot of classes, but my friends were gone."

It seemed she understood that he meant drama classes, and presented him with the notes that she had taken during class. With the confirmation that they both comprehended the instructions, they decided to divide up the poem received, and analyse it apart before comparing. They set to working in an easy silence, until Holly lifted her head. "Did you solve your issue with Marius?"

"Marius?" He looked at her blankly, fingers poised above the poem, stuck above "rage, rage against the dying light." Lips pursed, he fought to meet her gaze. Clearly she knew something that he didn't. "What issue? We aren't having any issues, he's my best friend after Enjolras. In fact, I'm having more trouble with Dylan Thomas."

Her green eyes narrowed. "I know you understand the poem, Courfeyrac. It isn't hard for you. I meant your problems with Pontmercy and Valjean."

"Mister Valjean?"

"_Cosette_, you idiot. Didn't you have an issue with them going out?"

_Only that I like them both beyond reason. _"No. Why?"

"Cosette says you always act jealous, and she doesn't want to take Marius away from you. Marius said that he hopes they aren't making you uncomfortable."

He blinked. "How do you know all this?"

"We have classes together, dumbass," Holly muttered beneath her breath, before returning pointedly to the poem.

Assuming that the conversation was over, Courfeyrac went back to his paper. As it seemed that they were skipping over the analysis part of the poem, he simply went straight to the 'explication' part.

... _he__ also takes care to use death towards the ending of the statement, in a note that can subtly be connected to death being the end of life. Death is final, like the period of a statement. Like when Marius and Cosette started dating each other and not me._

Red touched his cheeks, and he immediately erased the last statement, smacking his hand against his forehead. Why was he being so jealous? It didn't matter at all, did it? They liked each other, and he was their friend. Why couldn't he just be happy for them? He honestly hadn't thought himself that cruel.

Holly, who had noticed the last statement, snorted, but offered no words, realizing he obviously didn't want them. They passed the rest of the class in that way, managing to scrape up a strong A.


	4. Lunchtime Drama, part A

_Oh. Em. Gee. Thank you Rika for being my first reviewer, and I appreciate your comment a lot! It made me squeak to know that someone likes my writing!_

_GUESS WHAT? I was supposed to publish this on World Ballet Day. Guess what didn't happen. XD_

_This update comes as a spur-of-the-i-hate-school-moment. Enjoy!_

* * *

**L**unchtime. The zoo of high school, the fear of middle school, and the free period for elementary school. The fact that Ashton's was filled to the brim of all three was even worse- children as young as ten were filling up into the school, tripping lightly into the extremely large cafeteria with the hopes of getting the best seat.

Eponine was already there, balanced precariously between the two separate senior tables. Neither group of people were there yet- a thing she was quite relieved with. Who was she going to sit with this year? Montparnasse was being a bit of a prick, and he was tailing after her sister, of all people.

_And I had a fucking crush on you, _she muttered internally, finally deciding to sit with whichever group grabbed a table first. Of course, her luck had it that Montparnasse and Jehan walked in together, giggling over some music that the latter had found.

They both barely glanced at her as she wandered past, way too in tune with whatever artist was pumping out their music. It wasn't something that she listened to, so Eponine didn't dare pay attention. If she brought it up, 'Parnasse would ask if she was 'stalking him or something'. It was something about his artistic vibe, and she didn't question it. That was always a headache.

Popping her joints, the dancer stepped towards the lunch line, falling easily behind her sister, and her sister's friend Ada. Both were a part of her 'group', but Ada's brother was her best friend, so she was another floater.

"Hey, guys," she mumbled out, wrapping an arm around her sister's neck, pulling gently. "'Sup?"

Azelma scowled, removed the limb, and looked towards Montparnasse. "You two fighting?"

"Didn't answer my question. I'll ask Ada, then. Hey, Ada. 'Sup?"

The girl shifted uncomfortably, and Eponine noticed that her gaze was consistently shifting towards Enjolras and her brother. The two of them had entered the cafeteria silently, for once, and weren't speaking to one another. Actually, Grantaire wasn't speaking. Enjolras kept trying to put in a word or two, only to be ignored.

"Um.. Yeah, hey, 'Ponine. 'Sup?"

"Jesus, guys!" she complained, crossing her arms. "No gossip? Nothing fun? Did you two find any weed? Anything?"

Her sister took a few steps up, picking up a tray for her and Ada, and then, with a grumble, one for her Eponine too. "Nah. Ada's a bit bothered, though. Leave her be. Now, what's up with you an' your boytoy? Arguing again?"

"We aren't dating, dumbass. He isn't into me like that."

They both arched a brow, and the senior rolled her eyes, turning towards Grantaire, who had practically ran from Enjolras. He refused to meet his sister's gaze, and she blushed, turning away. As the awkwardness floated directly past the other dancer's sight (she was too busy gazing at Montparnasse, though she'd deny it if you asked).

"I'm not dating 'Parnasse, right, R?" she exclaimed.

He gazed moodily at her, before allowing a few words to fan past his lips. "Love is a lie," he mumbled, curly locks leaned against her shoulders. "You two aren't dating. You're too busy with sexual tension."

The line jostled forward, and the pair took a few steps forward, as the two siblings attempted to ignore one another. Ada was visibly blushing, and muttering exasperatedly to Azelma, who then took a few moments to drag out her friend, and they disappeared farther back in the line. Eponine took their spots, leading her distressed friend forwards, suddenly overwhelmed by three bowls of salad.

She carefully measured out an adequate amount, shifting so that Grantaire could gaze at it with utter hatred. "You have to eat something," she muttered. "Or I'll tell Joly, Enjolras, and Javert."

"You wouldn't," he insisted, eyeing her carefully.

"I would."

His lips curled up in yet another frown, and as they moved towards the toppings and additions are, he pressed a hand to his forehead, cool palms easing the beginning of a headache. "Was class tough?"

The attempt of conversation startled Eponine out of her reverie, where she was once more staring at Jehan and Montparnasse with something close to envy. With narrowed eyes, her friend was observed. "Did you have a fight with someone? Are you okay? Do I have to brutally execute a student? I'm all for it, R. Just give me the word."

Scooping some eggs onto his lettuce, the teen turned his head away from his friend, who hovered anxiously beside him. Ada and Azelma were lurking somewhere nearby, and he knew Enjolras would soon approach and try to make excuses. "My world is over." His dramatic words were chosen instead of an explanation, and then he went back to being silent, placing vegetables on his plate.

Eponine stirred beside him, almost hesitant to scoot over with her tray to find a more heftier lunch. "Oh, no. What did that boy do to you?!" Her face was pinched, and all verbal attacks on Montparnasse were forgotten in her haste to see what was wrong. "I'm going to kill him!"

"Oi, Eponea. Please let it go," he muttered briefly, scooping up a roll. He stalled briefly to find some butter, but upon noticing that his friend was still hovering at his shoulder, chose to let a little more past his lips. "It isn't that bad. I should have assumed that something would happen."

As they moved out of the room, plates filled with food, she scooted closer to her friend. "What did he do, Laurent Grantaire!" she hissed. "And if you do not tell me, I will ask your sister!"

"She's a part of it," he growled back, and the two of them walked silently towards a table; not the one with Joly and Bossuet, but the one where she, Montparnasse, and the rest of those kids sat. Ada and Azelma were still absent, but they likely would not join them. At least Eponine knew why the two were acting so weird today._  
_

As they slumped down, the pair settled into their easy way of picking at their food, occasionally commenting on the lack of flavor. The male chewed carelessly, and one hand balanced his chin as he did so. His friend was silent, a steel look on her face. She was definitely debating what to do with Enjolras, especially once she figured out what he did. Deciding that someone else on the floor would, she turned her head, searching for Claquesous, or someone else.

Claquesous stumbled in with Babet, both of them covered in paint, despite being enrolled in the acting portion of the school. Held between them was a grumbling Brujon, whose feet were dragging on the ground, weight pressed onto his best friends. It was a strange sight, but nobody spared a glance. It was dismissed by Grantaire and the Jondrette girl, who simply turned back to their food until they arrived.

It was Babet who arrived first, dropping off his Brujon cargo as soon as he spot an open seat. "DIBS!" he practically shrieked, placing his rugged boots on the table. "Now, can someone get me lunch?"

"No," the others stated, each rolling their eyes in irritation.

The rest of their group joined at this word, Montparnasse slipping easily into the group with Jehan still trailing behind him. "What are we saying 'no' for?" the poet wondered, sliding into the seat on the other side of Grantaire.

"Babet doesn't wish to give up his seat, and wants us to fetch him lunch."

Montparnasse glared at where the aforementioned student sat next to Eponine, wrapping his hand around her shoulder. A bit of jealousy turned inside of him, growing larger as she appeared to be laughing along with him. Heat was shooting from his gaze, but instead of moving, Babet winked at Montparnasse. The latter then shoved his food at Babet, hissing, "I've lost my appetite," before slinking off elsewhere.

Eponine curiously peeked after him, but shook her head as she realized that he left Jehan. _Why is he so _weird, she thought with a grimace. By the time that this was decided, half of the conversation had been missed. A cough passed her lips in order to reintroduce herself to the conversation, and then it was noticed that everyone was staring at her.

Daring them to say anything, Eponine frowned, before launching herself into thick plans to get Enjolras back for whatever it was that he did to Grantaire.

Meanwhile, Courfeyrac was dealing with a near-crying Enjolras, who was practically tearing his head out of his hair with worry.

"Oh, God, Courfeyrac. I really fucked up," he mumbled, rubbing his forehead over and over again. From next to him, his sister nodded, rubbing his back soothingly. She didn't tell him that he did perfectly fine, and that it was a misunderstanding, because she knew it wouldn't help. He needed a moment to get out all of his misery.

It would likely be more than a moment, though, as he honestly screwed up everything that had been built up over the last year.

He had started off the last year by passing most of his time gazing in awe at Grantaire, as if he saw something that had not been there before. By this time, the dancer was only making passing remarks to his friend, feeling a bit bored with the one-sided flirting. Their friendship actually grew stronger with this; although there was still flirting, it was always playful, and not serious.

They had started to trust one another! And now, everything was messed up.

"Deep breaths, buddy. You need to calm down before you start panicking."

The blonde attempted to oblige, pinching at his nose to make sure that he was breathing slower. As his shaking seemed to go down, his head was placed on the table. What was he going to do? Grantaire wouldn't even look at him, nor acknowledge his promises that he was just trying to make Ada cheer up. And Ada was too upset to even do something about it, instead avoiding both of them.

Somebody had to tell him that it wasn't what he thought! He was only tickling her to make her _feel _better. Not in a romantic sense at all.

Maybe he could find Eponine and explain before she murdered him.

Combeferre seemed to know what he was thinking, and had a pained expression when he settled down next to his two best friends. "Eponine knows."

He was fucked completely now.

"Is she gonna kill me?" he mumbled into the table, and Marius settled in across from them, resting his feet on his girlfriend's lap.

"Yeah, sorry. Do you want me to ask her not to? She'll probably take someone else's opinion. Or I can ask her to do something less dangerous that won't make you cry?"

Enjolras looked gratefully at Marius, but shook his head. "I deserve it."

At least, that's what he was convinced. He had texted Grantaire, aiming to explain his feelings that day. And when he had shown up, what had happened? He saw Enjolras with his sister. It was horrible, and poor planning on his part. But how could he have known Ada would be there? He didn't know everything.

And now all the favors he did for Javert in order for him to kick out Grantaire was useless.

Absolutely useless.


End file.
